


veni vidi amavi

by WendigoBaby



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Also Some Humor, Future Fic, Immortal Husbands, Introspection, M/M, Magnus has a lot of thoughts about his life and Alec, Romantic Soulmates, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but mostly just nostalgia and a whole lot of eternal and undying affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:24:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendigoBaby/pseuds/WendigoBaby
Summary: Alec still looks so young, bright-eyed and with morning scruff covering his face; there are no grey hairs on his head, no wrinkles embedded in his skin, except for little crow’s feet around his eyes that came from smiling. The golden band around Alec’s right ring finger catches the light as he cuts the tomatoes, quick and efficient.It’s an unspoken rule that warlocks rarely marry. Usually, it’s the fear of commitment with mortals - the promise of heartbreak after they pass lingering like a ghost over your shoulder or people not wanting to spend the entirety of their lives devoted to one soul. But Alec has always had a tendency to surprise Magnus.





	veni vidi amavi

**Author's Note:**

> title meaning: i came, i saw, i loved
> 
> This has been the reason for my almost 3 weeks long disappearance, but now, it's finished and i am finally free from it. I've always been completely taken by the concept of them, immortal and forever together, because they are absolute Relationship Goals. 
> 
> this was beta'd by my wonderful friend Charl ([tumblr](lightwoodlesbians.tumblr.com) /[ao3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohprongs/pseuds/ohprongs))

>   
>  **soulmate _(noun)_** \- a person with whom you have an immediate connection the moment you meet; a connection so strong that you are drawn to them in a way you have never experienced before.  
> 

What does time mean to an immortal being?

 

Mundanes have a limited amount of it. Aware of the final line, they try to live out every fantasy before their hourglasses run clean. They plan out the years, goals to be achieved, memories to be made in the right order. They dream of being remembered after their years have rushed by, whether for something worthy of fame or just simple photographs set in frames on homely mantelpieces. 

 

Sometimes, Magnus hears people say ‘We haven’t seen each other for so long!’ when it’s been a year or five, and it makes him smile. He’s always felt stationary, almost solid against the waves of time; for Magnus, there’s no end line in sight, no set rules, no bracket to keep him contained. 

 

Immortality doesn’t mean invincibility - Magnus has learned that the hard way - but there is a specific sense of freedom in not having to count your years. 

 

He turns the shower lever and waits until steam rises from the stream of water, then steps in.

 

Magnus has lived over four centuries on this earth, watched it evolve before his very eyes. He’s lived through many wars, fought to keep himself and his kind alive against all sorts of evil. But there have also been years of peace, when he was free to indulge in adventures, his studies and pleasures of life. With these years, came people.

 

He’s made great friends, like Catarina and Ragnor, who’ve stuck with him through thick and thin, made unforgettable memories and annoyed him out of his mind in the most loving way possible. There have been other acquaintances, warlocks he worked with, loyal clients, and random downworlders whose presence Magnus enjoyed immensely. They’ve all made his life different in their own ways and he will remember them, even if the world forgets about their existence.

 

There have also been lovers, many of them. Single night flings he remembers as clothes draped over furniture, long hours tasting like liquor and laughter, followed by parting ways. Some people stuck around for longer, held Magnus’ hand and went with him on dates, but, sooner or later, they always fled. Whether it was his cat eyes, past deeds or something else entirely, the relationships never lasted, each leaving behind a new fissure in Magnus’ soul. 

 

Magnus tips his head back, letting the water from the showerhead spray over his face. He’s not sure why he’s thinking about all of this, old loves and the many years he remembers; maybe it’s the date or the repetitive motions that leave his mind wandering. His eyelashes flutter as droplets of water hang onto them, only to slip down his nose and chin, catch on the sharp edge of his jaw. 

 

At first, he had hope - a romantic at heart, Magnus loves like he lives, to the fullest. But for an immortal, love, like everything else, is only temporary. He understands these feelings aren’t meant to be timeless, because even other warlocks or vampires he’s been with had never stayed as soon as the flame of affection dimmed. 

 

Of course, break-ups are a commodity in the world of relationships, but, at some point, a tinny voice in the back of Magnus’ mind warned him to not get too attached, because he would always end up alone. By the point Camille had come into Magnus’ life, he was tired of it all, but let himself take a last chance; a last shot at putting his hand in the fire and hoping it wouldn’t burn. 

 

She was good for him for a while - distracted his thoughts, set his mind at ease with her colorful personality and all kinds of frivolities, told Magnus she understood the pain he felt in his heart, pulled him away from the edge in more ways than one. They crashed events as famous people, partied until the sun rose overhead; Camille made Magnus feel good, made him feel important and wanted when the world meant to prove him otherwise. He loved her with his whole being, gifted her with his best works to keep her smiling, but her feelings for him were never quite the same. 

 

Magnus has realised her decadence over time; for Camille love was just another plaything, an entertainment, something that required little effort on her side. Ruthlessly cold at the core, she toyed with Magnus’ emotions, selfishly manipulated him into giving her all she wanted, put thoughts in his head, ones he should have never believed. Where for him love was a gorgeous thing, for Camille it was a ball and chain; despite all she told Magnus, she never intended to be his forever. 

 

Camille broke Magnus’ heart, shattered it into sharp pieces it took decades to pick up and put back together. After her, Magnus had had enough; he closed himself off from any kind of feelings for other people. He was sick of baring himself, letting people in, only to be pushed away over and over. And so, he’d promised himself to never love again.

 

Magnus lets his head lull forward, blinks his eyes open as water trickles down the back of his neck. Puffs of white foam wash down the drain, swirling around his feet, as he stands under the warm stream just for a moment longer. There’s no rush for him to be anywhere, no lives in danger, no early calls, no war to fight. 

 

With a relaxed sigh, he steps out and dries himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. Without the loud hum of the water, Magnus can clearly hear the birds chirping right outside the house through the open window; the air brushing his bare skin smells of sea salt and the citrus trees growing nearby. Hair dry after a click of his fingers, Magnus combs it back loosely, and with a brief glance into the mirror, he leaves the bathroom. 

 

He’s bought this Provençal little house on a whim, after on one date night Alec suggested that if they ever get a day off, they should elope, spend it out in the countryside and away from the big cities. And now, they’re here on a sunny Saturday, with their phones turned off and all day to themselves. Fingers dragging over flowery wallpaper, Magnus makes his way over to the master bedroom, old wooden floors creaking under his weight. 

 

They’d arrived yesterday evening, just after they both got off work and said goodbyes to their kids, who were staying with Luke and Maryse. The summer warmth stuck to their skin the second they stepped through the portal, kept them company while they strolled around a nearby quaint town tucked into the seaside, hand in hand down cobblestone alleys lined with buildings painted the muted shades of sunset. They tried the food and listened to stories told by locals, until it got dark and the stars rose above their heads. New York’s sky couldn’t ever measure up to to the bright-freckled night in the middle of a heather field. 

 

At one point, when they were already drunk on love and rosé, when Magnus was laughing at something Alec said so hard he had to prop himself on whatever was near, it seemed like they were the only people in the entire world. Not hearing Alec’s laughter along his own, Magnus looked up, caught him staring with a gaze intense and tinted with something earnest and tender, something that spoke beyond simple words. 

 

“Look at you. You’re so beautiful.” 

 

Magnus has heard those words many times from Alec, who takes every chance to tell him how gorgeous he is, inside and out. He has made Magnus feel far from an abomination, monstrous and dangerous - when faced with Magnus’ past, Alec hadn’t passed judgement; instead, he’d embraced Magnus, along with all his vices and virtues, and accepted him as he was. Alec had made Magnus feel safe.

 

With stars above them and the brightest ones set in Alec’s eyes, Magnus crowded him against a wall, kissed him with all he had - passion and fondness and devotion. Alec smiled against his mouth, Magnus could feel him push his entire body into the gesture, respond to the kiss like a storm, electric and enticing at once; Magnus would never tire of it, of how each kiss made his heart grow two sizes, whether it was an everyday greeting or something deeper and more reverent as this. 

 

When Magnus walks into the bedroom, Alec seems to still be asleep. Before, he was settled on his stomach, his bare back exposed to the rays of sun slipping in through the wooden shutters, pale ochre-colored light cutting thick lines like painter’s strokes into his runed skin. 

 

Slipping out from beneath the thin sheets, Magnus had dragged his gaze along the curves of Alec’s muscles, over paths Magnus’ hands have taken more times than he can count. It felt impossible to leave the bed with his husband still in it, warm and solid, yet he had, mind heavy with thoughts only to be resolved under a stream of hot water.

 

Now Alec is on his back, tangled in the lavender-colored fabric, sleep-hazy and uninhibited, with his arms resting loosely over his torso and a sliver of thigh peeking through a gap in the coiled sheets. He looks like an artist’s muse, Greek Apollo captured in tan marble. Stuck in the doorway, Magnus smiles absentmindedly, wanting to keep this image forever.

 

The clothes they’d shed the day before, lost in the sensation of skin on skin and fingertips pressed into muscle, are still scattered over the wooden floors; Magnus picks up a crumpled shirt and a pair of pants on his way over to a small suitcase they’d brought along. He throws them onto an armchair in the corner of the room and fishes out some fresh underwear, the breeze from the open balcony door wrapping itself around his ankles. The towel lands on the ground with a soft noise and Magnus pulls the red boxer briefs over his ass.

 

“Nice view,” Alec murmurs, his voice rough with disuse, the words slurring together into one noise Magnus deciphers with years of practice. He turns to look behind him, only to find Alec with a smile on his face, somewhere between sleepy and playful, an arm tucked behind his head as a pillow. 

 

Magnus lifts an eyebrow at Alec, unimpressed. 

 

“Good morning to you, too,” he says with a semi-flat tone, his amusement at the mischievousness coloring his voice despite best efforts. 

 

With a sigh accompanied by Alec’s chuckle, Magnus looks towards the horizon beyond the balcony railing - the pale sand bordering overgrown flower fields, the sea waves lapping at the coast, cerulean lined with white foam. He glances back towards Alec and sends him a sly wink. 

 

“It’s quite _impressive_ , wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Oh, it’s _extraordinary_ ,” Alec hums in agreement, then huffs out an indulgent laugh at their stupid little jokes; the sound echoes bright between Magnus’ ribs as he goes to hang the damp towel over the balcony railing. 

 

The late-morning sun touches at his skin when he leans against the carved wood, letting the wind play with strands of his hair. He’s spent so much time in New York that this kind of quiet feels almost eerie - there’s no honking taxis, no helicopters flying over buildings at random hours in the night, no people with their easy chatter littering every nook and cranny of the city. Instead, there’s just nature, bees and birds mingling, the rustle of branches against the roof tiles. 

 

“Come back to bed? I haven’t kissed my husband today yet and I really want to,” Alec says, voice teasing, yet soft.

 

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Magnus remarks, taking deliberately slow stops towards the bed, watching Alec’s smile grow into a sleepy grin. 

 

The mattress creaks beneath Magnus’ weight when he settles on his knees across Alec’s hips, arms pressed into the pillow on both sides of Alec’s head. Alec looks up at Magnus, hands raising to rest against his neck, feather-light and adoring. It’s slow and easy to drown in, Alec smiling mid-kiss, pressing soft pecks to the corners of Magnus’ lips before pushing up for more open mouthed kisses. 

 

When Magnus met Alec, he had long forgotten what true love felt like. It was a tumultuous time, with Valentine on the rise and the warlocks uneasy. Then, Clary came like a whirlwind back into Magnus’ life, turning it inside out. With Clary, Alec had begrudgingly tagged along, at first thorny and closed-off, always keeping himself safe in the shadows of others. Yet, since the first time they’d spoken to each other - even before that - they’d had a connection.

 

It was beyond simple physical attraction; it was more than skin-deep. Even in the aftermath of their short-lived fight with that Circle member, they took a moment just to breathe each other in, Magnus watched a smile grow on Alec’s face, unabashed and uninhibited with the burdens of his everyday life. There was something so special, something Magnus couldn’t deny, and it was exactly what pushed him to reach out, start the entire chain of events that led them here.

 

Kissing Alec feels easier than breathing, their bodies responding in sync to each other, one of Magnus’ hands travelling down Alec’s chest, over coarse hair and to his side, thumb dragging against the sharp line of his hipbone only to grab at his thigh. Before they even realize, their chests are pressed flush together, legs tangled and hearts beating to one rhythm. 

 

They’ve done this more times than Magnus can count, kissed until their mouths were red and puffy; sometimes it was all passion and heat deep in the pit of Magnus’ stomach, their hands reckless and needy, but sometimes it was just like this, steady and lazy and slow, touching for the sake of it.

 

The initial leap into the unknown was terrifying, every exposed piece of Magnus’ soul a step onto the minefield. The first Shadowhunter to come into Magnus’ life, Alec was a key to the cage Magnus had locked himself into a century ago. And it wasn’t easy at the beginning - with every move forward, they made two back; after all, nothing good ever comes easy. The turning point was the wedding Magnus crashed, when he decided to fight once more for his and Alec’s happiness, with a little bit of help from an old friend. In hindsight, it was one of the best choices Magnus has made, because Alec was like summer rain - powerful, yet soothing. 

 

He turned Magnus’ world upside down and led him home at once. 

 

Magnus presses his lips against the deflect rune on Alec’s neck and feels the fingers buried in his hair tighten, pulling a hum from his chest. It’s mouths brushing against stubbled cheeks, smiles hidden in collarbones, ticklish touches leaving them giggling like teenagers. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they feel full, if for a little while. 

 

Helplessly tangled up in the sheets, Magnus lies down on his back next to Alec, who shuffles closer, resting his chin on Magnus’ chest and winding an arm around his waist. Without the need to say anything and slightly out of breath, Magnus moves his fingers through Alec’s hair, combing back the unruly curls that keep springing back into their place. 

 

“25 years, huh,” Alec muses, his chin digging into the muscle underneath with each movement.

 

Magnus cranes his neck down at a strange angle, pretty positive he’s sporting a double chin from Alec’s point of view; his fingers keep running through the motions. 

 

“That’s roughly half your life you’ve been married to me. How does it feel?”

 

“Wonderful, actually.” Alec smiles lopsidedly, halfway lost in his thoughts, swallows around the next words. “Do you think I’d be bald by now, like Camille said? Or maybe I’d have grey sides, all rugged and sexy a la Oscar Isaac.” 

 

Magnus chuckles, a vision of Alec dressed like the Star Wars pilot forming in his imagination; the leather jacket would look surely nice on him, fitting well into Alec’s already existing fashion sense.

 

“First of all, did you hang out with Simon recently? And second of all, Camille didn’t know what she was talking about. I love you as you are, in all your messy, bed-hair glory.”

 

Alec’s snicker is mixed with a soft glance from beneath his eyelashes, before he pushes up on his arm to peck Magnus on the mouth, lingering close just for a couple of seconds. “Love you too, baby.” 

 

He lies down comfortably again, this time with his scratchy cheek against Magnus’ skin. The hand that was resting loosely around Magnus’ waist begins to trace feather-light shapes over his side. 

 

Magnus’ hand stills, settling against the curve of Alec’s skull, almost cradling it against his chest. 

 

Their love was a conversation, a dialogue of souls made of the same material. Smitten with each other from the very beginning, it was impossible to stay away - no matter what life threw at them, they’ve always returned, found the right path and tangled their hands together. They’re good for each other, but in a healthier way than Camille was for Magnus. While it’s impossible to avoid comparisons, Magnus knows deeply they’re two entirely different worlds, a theatre show versus something so real and tender that sometimes it hurts to feel. 

 

Alec has made Magnus open up and believe again - in true love, in stability, and a kind of safety going beyond locked doors and magical wards. That he still can have his happy forever. Alec has listened to Magnus’ doubts and fears, opinions and memories, heard beyond his voice. Alec has loved him in the moments when Magnus felt unlovable.

 

Magnus sighs, a subtle smile settled on his mouth, as he blinks himself out of his thoughts. He used to have quiet days a lot back in his more lonesome times. There’s less of them now, but they still happen, almost welcome - times likes this sun-lit morning, where’s no darkness weighing down on him, but something peaceful and complete instead. 

 

His fingers dance down Alec’s back, over the straight line of his spine, pulling a drowsy hum from Alec resting on his chest. He seems to be drifting in and out of sleep, eyes closed, but fingertips still moving against Magnus’ side. 

 

“Let’s have breakfast, dove,” Magnus says quietly, drumming his fingers against the knobs of Alec’s vertebrae. 

 

“Can’t we have breakfast in bed?” Alec groans back, pushing his face into Magnus’ skin as if he could escape the reality and the sun slowly climbing higher and higher in the sky.

 

It’s a tempting offer, one snap of Magnus’ fingers and they could have the feast of their lives in these very sheets, but it doesn’t feel right; he’s gotten so used to doing things the mundane way with Alec that it’s almost ridiculous. 

 

“Come on, you lazy oaf, there’s only so many hours in a day. And I’m really craving your special recipe scrambled eggs.” Magnus pats Alec’s ass and with one final sigh of defeat from the Shadowhunter, they both start to get up, the mattress squeaking with each sluggish movement. 

 

Alec pads over to the suitcase and picks out a pair of black underwear to slip into before brushing past Magnus in the doorway, his hair sticking out in every possible direction. They walk down the stairs, the worn carpet rough beneath their bare feet. The small kitchen they walk into is connected to a dining room, framed with black and white linoleum and kitchen isles, plenty of space for a whole family. The sun is pouring in through the window, exposing all little dust particles floating around. 

 

“Chef Alec is in the kitchen, two orders of five-star scrambled eggs with spinach and tomatoes coming right up,” Alec jokes as he pulls a pan from one of the cabinets, twirling it in his palm before he sets it on the stove. 

 

The fridge is freshly well-stocked, charmed with a spell to always provide everything they need, and Alec dumps an armful of ingredients onto the counter, busying his hands and mind with making breakfast, already looking much more awake than moments before.

 

Magnus, on the other hand, busies himself with coffee and making the toast to accompany the eggs; he cuts thick slices of dark bread and puts them in the oven to crisp up, before pulling out the french press. 

 

Still, Magnus can’t help but stare. 

 

Alec still looks so young, bright-eyed and with morning scruff covering his face; there are no grey hairs on his head, no wrinkles embedded in his skin, except for little crow’s feet around his eyes that came from smiling. The golden band around Alec’s right ring finger catches the light as he cuts the tomatoes, quick and efficient. 

 

It’s an unspoken rule that warlocks rarely marry. Usually, it’s the fear of commitment with mortals - the promise of heartbreak after they pass lingering like a ghost over your shoulder or people not wanting to spend the entirety of their lives devoted to one soul. But Alec has always had a tendency to surprise Magnus. 

 

He always manages to say things that nobody has ever told Magnus before. _There’s nothing ugly about you. I don’t think I can live without you. Will you marry me?_

 

How could Magnus say no to the love of his life? They’ve gotten married, surrounded by their friends and family, all dressed in shades of gold. Magnus has never thought it would happen to him, that he’d be able to walk down the aisle covered with rose petals, holding his newly-wed husband’s slightly clammy hand, to see him smile at Magnus like he hung the stars and the moon in the sky. Magnus had resigned himself to a life alone, but there was Alec, taking down all his walls one by one, pressing a pair of gentle hands against Magnus’ heart.

 

There have been many lovers in Magnus’ life and he could not count them all, no matter how much he tried - fleeting romances, deeper connections, flings that turned into friendships. But never before has there been a person like Alec. Never someone who was more than a lover, who was also a best friend, a partner in crime, a kindred spirit. 

 

With Alec, everything clicked - every joke was funnier if told by him (even if he stuttered through the punchline) and trouble never seemed as daunting with his presence behind Magnus’ back; they could talk about anything and everything from dinner options, politics and opinions, dreams and deepest fears, right to their plans for the future.

 

There wasn’t a day where Magnus didn’t think of his husband, his honest and loyal and tender husband, where his chest didn’t burst at the seams with all the love he harbored for so long. Alec isn’t Magnus’ longest relationship by far, but Magnus is sure it will outlast the world itself - he is a constant in a world full of temporary people.

 

After dumping a few spoonfuls of coffee grounds into the press, Magnus sets the kettle with a click of his fingers, not wanting to get into Alec’s way as he’s shuffling the eggs around with a wooden spatula. The food smells heavenly and Magnus feels hunger gnawing at his insides, almost tempting him to steal just a little bit off of the pan.

 

Alec glances up, one of his eyes lit up by the sun while he studies Magnus’ expression; since somewhere along the lines he’s learned to read Magnus like a book, he smiles and scoops some of the food onto the spatula, blows on it to cool it and carefully brings it closer to Magnus’ face. 

 

Magnus dips down and takes a bite, managing to not spill any on the ground. With his mouth full, he can’t speak, so instead he expresses his emotions by a dip of his eyelids and a shamelessly exaggerated moan; there’s just the right amount of spices and herbs in the food.

 

Alec chuckles, his smile somewhere between smitten and pleased. “I’ll take that as a yes?”

 

With a hand on the side of Alec’s neck to draw him closer, Magnus nods, pauses chewing to peck Alec’s mouth and wink at him. “Yum.”

 

The kettle starts whistling, bursting their flirtatious bubble. While Magnus pours the boiling water into the press, Alec reaches into the oven with the mitts on, pulling out a pan full of already browned, crispy, and perfectly warm toast, then sets it aside for a bit to cool. 

 

With a sigh, Magnus focuses on stirring the coffee mixture, waiting for it to brew properly; nobody wants to drink bad coffee.

 

He didn’t want to let Alec go, still doesn’t. And while at some point in his life, Magnus had had come to terms with the issue of mortality, sometimes it surfaced like an oil spill over seawaves, dark and worrisome. Over a year of their marriage later and right on the day of Alec’s birthday, they were sat with half-full glasses of wine on the loft’s balcony, when Alec turned to him with a vulnerable look after Magnus asked him what he’d like for his birthday next year. 

 

_“The only gift I want is an eternity with you.”_

 

The words resonated loudly as if the entire world had disappeared into silence, only leaving him and this hazel-eyed mystery of a man, always making Magnus’ heart strain against his ribs. Immortality is not something he’d ever push Alec about, because while it sounded good on the surface, it came with a price of death - not yours, but everyone around you. 

 

But Alec was sure of his decision, sincere and quiet in the way he held Magnus’ hands; for Nephilim, death was always on the other side of the coin. It had taken a deal - a dangerous amount of energy and an exchange with a yellow-eyed creature in the middle of the glowing summoning circle. 

 

And now, there were the two of them, moving against the current of time, watching almost everyone around them age with grace. 

 

The clink of plates pulls Magnus out of his thoughts again and it’s a miracle he hasn’t spilled any coffee on himself. Alec piles the eggs onto the dishes in even amounts, pairs it with the now-buttered toast and sprinkles everything with just a bit of grated cheese. 

 

Magnus closes the lid and pushes down on the press, filtering the coffee before pouring it into two mugs, one of them chipped at the handle and Alec’s utmost favorite. With their hands full, they move to the porch on the back of the house that looks out onto the shore, a small space surrounded with glass walls and a ceiling like a greenhouse. The cold from the stone tiles seeps into Magnus’ feet as he wanders over to the patio furniture to put down their coffees - a dark wicker table and matching chairs, the entire space cluttered with potted plants. 

 

Alec lingers behind, his deep breath audible in the vague quietness.

 

“We should bring the kids here for a weekend, you know, have a little picnic at the beach.”

 

Magnus smiles to himself, takes the plates from his husband’s hands and sets them down alongside the mugs. “We should, I’m sure they’d love it here with all the space to run around in and explore.”

 

“They’re a lively bunch, just like the ones before them. I fear for Luke and his back.” Alec chuckles, his words conjuring the fresh image of pepper-and-salt haired Lucian in Magnus’ mind, the eldest Garroway-Lightwood enjoying his role as a grandpa.

 

“He’ll handle himself. If he made it through Clary’s puberty, then what are three little downworlders in comparison? And he’s got Simon and your mom on stand-by,” Magnus shrugs and they sit down side by side.

 

Through the glass, Magnus watches the sea move, waves folding over each other, washing out empty shells and starfish onto the sand. Alec takes a bite of his food and washes it down with a sip of coffee, then turns in his seat to face Magnus, cheek resting against the top of his palm, the fork unsteady between loose fingers and dangling above the plate. 

 

“A penny for your thoughts?” 

 

Magnus sighs, turns to meet Alec’s eyes, curious and roaming over the lines of his face with half-hidden worry. He looks and looks and looks - takes in the little scar in his eyebrow, the edge of the rune curling up his jaw, the small birthmarks at the base of his throat. 

 

This is the man who has stolen Magnus’ heart, the one who knows him better than anyone else in the world, the one that treats Magnus like a sacred and powerful demigod. Alexander Lightwood-Bane, Magnus’ immortal husband, the father of his children, his North Star. 

 

Magnus lifts his palm, presses it against Alec’s face, thumb swiping in slow motions against his cheekbone. He leans into it, patient and golden-hearted. 

 

“I am glad to have met you.” It’s a simple statement, underlaid with emotions too big to describe in any sort of language. 

 

Maybe it’s Magnus’ expression what gives it away or the way his hand stills as he gathers the next words, but Alec seems to understand - he smiles encouragingly, his coffee-warmed palm settling over Magnus’.

 

“When I saw you for the first time, not at the loft, but at Pandemonium, my heart ached and I knew you’d be someone special. That you’d be _it_.”

 

In that moment, as Alec pushed past Magnus just after saving his life, a feeling surfaced, something almost like a voice in Magnus’ ears despite the bouncing club music - _there you are, please stay for a while_. 

 

Now, he’s looking at Magnus with this bittersweet fondness, as he tugs his hand down from his face and instead cradles it in his own palms, long fingers wrapping their way across Magnus’ skin. The touch is grounding in a way, a quiet expression of love and awe.

 

His grip tightens for a breath and he smiles again, there and gone.

 

“Listen, I had a whole speech ready for our candlelit dinner later, but I wasn’t prepared for this.” They laugh, because of course Alec had a speech planned. He keeps saying he’s far from a romantic, but if the spontaneous and heartfelt confessions and random gifts, just because, are anything to go by, Alec is one of the most sentimental, idealistic people Magnus knows. 

 

“I wasn’t prepared for _you_ , either. From the moment I was born, I was taught to not believe in the idea of happy love. Practical marriages, alliances for wealth, yes, but not the kind of affection that makes your life better, that makes you happy. You saved me, Magnus.”

 

The words hang in the air, echoing in Magnus’ mind. He has never really believed in the concept of soulmates, two people destined to cross each other’s paths, two hearts bound to each other before they were born. Fate herself is a trickster, painting an endless amount of paths to take, and before meeting Alec, Magnus would’ve scoffed at the notion of someone meant for him; it just didn’t seem reasonable, but now, it’s different. Maybe they did save each other after all - from loneliness, heartache, a sort of emptiness nothing material can fill. 

 

“Hey.” Magnus catches Alec’s gaze, their hands still tangled in his lap, cooling breakfast be damned. “Thanks for loving me.” 

 

Alec’s following eyeroll is a mix of exasperation and understanding, because he’s been there too, when the best things in your life feel like a dream never meant to last. But theirs had, against all odds.

 

“You are the man of my life and if I could marry you again, I’d go down on my knee right now. It’s an _honor_ to love you,” Alec says with pure conviction, lifting Magnus’ palm to his lips, branding a soft kiss onto his skin, a knight’s promise.

 

Magnus swallows the lump in his throat, voice breathy. “I’d say yes. Always.” 

 

They fall quiet against the song of the sea and Alec leans closer, kisses Magnus; it’s far from rushed, not a fire doused with gasoline, but a steady light against the dark. With that, they settle back into their seats, hands still linked, but now resting on Magnus’ bare knee. He clicks the fingers of his free hand to heat up their food again, the steam curling above the plates in abstract shapes. 

 

Alec hums, then laughs quietly, almost as if to himself. “We’re giant saps, aren’t we?” 

 

“Yes, we are.”

 

They both pick up their respective coffee cups, clink them together in a mock-toast like champagne flutes.

 

Fifty, a hundred years ago, Magnus was disillusioned, disappointed by what the world was to him. He was drowning in something dark, a cold and deep ocean that sat inside of him - pretty on the surface, but harboring things nobody wants to see.

 

Here he is now, bathed in something peaceful, something that tastes like black pepper and coffee. The darkness, the cold water, they’re still there; love will not erase it, nor it will fix it, because it was never broken. Love just makes living easier, all the rights brighter and all the wrongs more bearable. 

 

Alec smiles at him, fingers squeezing Magnus’.

 

“Happy anniversary, love.”

 

Whether it’s in a year or five or ten, it will be okay. Storms at sea pass and one day everyone finds their someone, their somewhere; for every sailor, there is a haven.

 

Magnus smiles back, lifts his cup to his mouth and takes a slow sip. The hot liquid warms him from the inside as it travels through his body.

 

“Happy anniversary, my dear Alexander.”

 

_It will be okay._

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](maghnvsbane.tumblr.com)!


End file.
